Contempt
by Takigawa Aki
Summary: The more you know the world the more it may surprise you.


**Prompt:** Mukuro - Reincarnation; "Nothing ever changes" (KHRFest)

**Contempt**

Familiarity is a dangerous thing. It breeds danger in the form of contempt. Contempt has many forms, not only of condescension but of trust and, thus, underestimation. When you become familiar with something you forget that it can hurt you. When you befriend something you grow certain that you do not need to worry, for it will not hurt you. This familiarity is contempt at its riskiest.

But familiarity is inevitable. As it strengthens so does the need to fight that contempt in order to stay alive. Familiarity with the world is the most dangerous for it will never stop trying to kill you or to break you. That is the nature of life: To face challenges. Some break. Some continue, strengthened by the victory, only to be cut down later because of their own arrogance. I refuse to be either of these. I familiarize myself with the world only to know its tricks, but still assume that there will be surprises. It is how I am alive now.

It is how I have been alive so many times.

I lean back, looking up at the clouds wistfully. For now I am alone. Soon one of my companions will come to see how I'm doing, to be sure that everything is alright, but I enjoy the silence I have at this moment. They worry for my health when I have only so recently recovered from my imprisonment.

That was new. A trick of the world I hadn't yet learned. I've never been imprisoned like that but for in hell. Where I felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing; a prisoner in my own mind, whose life depended on the machines that seemed to become a part of that prison of flesh, floating underwater. That is the most isolated that anyone can be. There was nothing but me in that cage other than the soft current. But I am not meant to be caged. My illusions and my host made sure that I had contact with the outside world. I fear that, without that, I may not have survived. One's mind is a terrible prison, where one must face all of their own faults and fears. Mine holds the horrors and the deaths of so many lives; it holds the hells each one endured to be reborn as that cycle continued to my life, the last cycle—the one that must carry the burdens of all the lives before it.

In my mind, I ramble sometimes. It is just to avoid remembering.

The clouds float lazily by, uncaring for the world beneath them, affected only by the wind and the heat of the sun. The tree I lie under provides soft shade, a gentle coolness. There is a little breeze, gently bending the grass and rustling the leaves, that carries the scent of wildflowers and the sweet decay of earth from old leaves. There are always leaves left over from fall that freeze in the winter and thaw in the spring, the moisture causing them to rot and to feed the new leaves that will grow on the trees both new and old.

That is the same cycle that they have followed for centuries.

When I escaped the prison, somehow I expected the world to be different. For the grass to smell sweeter or for the sun to feel warmer. But it is exactly the same as before, all so familiar.

The soft crunch of dirt and a rock underfoot alert me to someone's presence but I do not nerve, arms folded behind my head. I am still looking up at the clouds, my eyes slowly following a wisp that twirls and is combining with another until it is assimilated, unrecognizable from the rest of the mass. Just like clouds have always done.

"Mukuro-san," comes a tentative voice. I glance back to show that I am listening before returning my gaze upwards, now looking at the edge of the softly blown leaves. They are new growth, young and strong and vibrantly green, joined by buds of siblings who've not yet bloomed into full leaves. The branches are partly green. The trunk smells musky and alive, the bark thick and healthy.

I can hear him lean his shoulder against the tree but I give no reaction, waiting for him to continue. "The Vongola boy sent us a message," Ken tells me with what sounds like an annoyed voice. "He says the kid with the sticks is coming."

That makes my lips curl upward ruefully. "Hibari Kyouya," I murmur softly. "Anything else, Ken?"

"Nope." A little rustling. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I don't want to get up; I am too comfortable in the shade, on the soft grass. He seems to sense this and without another word he goes back to the makeshift home we all share, an abandoned, destroyed amusement park. I like it. It is large but makes no pretenses to seem better than it is. It is run down by a tsunami a few years ago and the broken buildings and scattered rides still lay half-covered by dirt that used to be mud. Windows are still broken and smeared with grime; floors, except where we cleaned it, are still as dirty, if not dirtier, than outside. Any building could collapse at any moment. But sometimes to be on my own like this is preferable to Kokuyou Land, anyway.

This boy. Revenge is something that runs in our blood; it is the drive of the defeated to survive by becoming stronger than their hunters. But it is only in humans. A rabbit will not fight a wolf or a hawk; a mouse does not fight the snake that swallows it. They run and, if they are overtaken, they are simply consumed. Humans, even if they survive their defeat, have pride to contend with. This pride will not allow them to lie down without a fight, except for in the rare few who wish to be protected rather than to protect themselves. For the most part every one of us will fight no matter what we think in tranquil times.

Pride breeds vengeance. Vengeance has many forms, but for this boy it is only one. I broke his body, which is his pride; he would break mine as well to regain that pride lost and to prove himself, not truthfully to me but to his ego as well because being defeated made him doubt his strength. That is humanity, eternally flawed, never changing.

As always, I will face the threat and I will disperse it. I do not wish to kill the boy, though in all the pain I have endured in my time, I have begun to lose my empathy. Perhaps I am apathetic now. I understand the human condition and mind so well that I do not care for its suffering. My familiarity with it has brought contempt for it.

Nothing changes except for names and faces. Technology grows but people do not. Mathematics and science do not change humanity. We will always be the same as we have always been, because nothing ever changes.

Slowly I stand and pick up the trident, which catches and gently reflects the sunlight. It is cold under my hand despite the warm weather. My weapon in hand, I begin a slow walk back to the middle of Kokuyou, resigned to the fact that I will have to battle this day. Perhaps I even enjoy pain in others; the thrill of a fight is always lovely, for it is one of the few things that can thrill me anymore. But now I wish only to enjoy the shade and to watch the clouds and maybe to take a nap and hope my sleep is not disturbed by past hells.

However, that will not stop this boy of Cloud, and I will not allow him simply to kill me. I am human as well, and though I understand pride it still rules me. I do not like to be bested. I do not like to be vulnerable. I have come to accept that I will have pride all of my life and as such I need only to make sure I control it instead of it controlling me. That is how to grow—acceptance and moderation rather than rejection and ignorance. That is what people do not want to face.

I stand as the sun begins to set, waiting for the distant figure, so familiar, to appear at the gate. The dirt smells of spring beneath my feet and crunches pleasantly when I walk. The breeze has strengthened until it begins to disturb my hair but I pay it no mind, still, only waiting, infinitely patient. He will come as he always does and he always will until one of us is dead. His pride is strong and that is what drives him to such lengths.

But this understanding is familiarity. We have fought before. I am familiar with his style of fighting and the way he improves. Most of all I am familiar with the quicksilver fire of his eyes.

But familiarity breeds contempt, and contempt is dangerous. The more I learn of him, the more I might begin to trust what I believe to be his abilities. The more we clash in the universal battle of wills and of bodies, the closer I may come to being too familiar. And perhaps, because of this boy whose pride is so much greater than any other's, I may be defeated.

Maybe something will change.


End file.
